


The Pure and the Damned

by Lord_Twinkle



Category: Cursed (TV 2020), Cursed - Thomas Wheeler
Genre: Aftercare, Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sex, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Twinkle/pseuds/Lord_Twinkle
Summary: Lancelot believes Gawain needs to let out some steam. Things don't go quite as planned, but they still end up releasing some stress ;)
Relationships: Gawain | The Green Knight/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I may add chapters to this if I find the time to actually write.
> 
> I am still new to writing smut. I did my best, and am fairly pleased with the result.
> 
> Thank you to everyone on the Lancewain fan server who gave me advice and helped me edit!
> 
> Music inspiration: Sing it back - Moloko

They fought. They couldn’t help themselves, Gawain thought. They breathed it. It has been their entire lives, a refuge in which they can push all the problems of the future a little further ahead, block out all that is wrong with the world. And who could blame them? The Red Paladins were now associated with the Ice King and growing more bold by the minute, and King Uther’s army was relentlessly trying to grab the sword of power, which everyone believed was still in Fey possession. They had to be on their toes or they would fall to their knees when a new threat cut at their tendons.

_ They _ , how strange, Gawain thought. Already speaking in his own mind as though Lancelot and he were a  _ we _ .

The knight had believed that a new life in the Fey camp might ease a bit of the constant tension in the monk’s shoulders. Instead, he couldn’t help but scout and report the various ways in which they may be attacked and the poor defenses they had in place. He came in Gawain’s tent to hound him and list them out - all things Gawain was already aware of, but had neither the manpower nor the resources to fix.

Usually, Gawain dragged him to the training grounds, trying to quiet both of their minds. If the monk was infuriating at times, at least he was also a worthy opponent. Plus, and Gawain would never admit to that freely, there was a grace to the way the Ashman moved when he was defending his life that the knight found quite pleasing.

Gawain had even gone as far as lazily flirting with the man, but the stoicism of Lancelot either showed a lack of interest or obliviousness. It was probably better this way, he told himself. That the thought even crossed his mind sometimes made him wonder if he had finally gone off the deep end.

That is the price we pay for loneliness, he supposed.

Today is different. The rain was pouring in heavy sheets outside and there was no possibility of using the training grounds as they would be nothing but mud. So, Gawain had no choice but to listen to the exhausting list of problems in the quiet tones of the monk. Now, Gawain liked to think he was a rather patient man. But even he had his limits.

“And what would you have me do, Lancelot? You know our numbers are thin and that we barely have the needed supplies to house everyone here.”

“I’m simply stating that you should try to antici-”

“We’re doing all we can. Everyone is running themselves ragged as is.”

“And it's not enough,” the monk responded dryly, moving closer with the most subtle look of challenge.

Gawain rose slowly from behind his desk, depositing his hands on the surface in a stance that would have anyone else know to tread carefully. “Let’s not get into an argument over this. I appreciate your input, but things are being taken care of as best we can.”

Lancelot’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “If you keep things as are,” he hissed, “We will be attacked and the person handing out resurrections is dead. Or have you already forgotten?”

That’s it. Gawain saw red and before he could think his own movements through, his hand came up and he snatched the collar of his shirt, bringing him down to his level, baring his teeth. He didn’t expect the fist Lancelot had launched by instinct, landing hard and precise against his gut. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t let go and hauled the monk over to his side of the desk, letting him crash to the ground.

Lancelot pulled himself back up, protecting his back with the desk and whipping the blood coming out of his nose. He straightened and got into a low sparring stance, that nasty grin he got when he was about to murder distracting Gawain from his otherwise delicate features.

“Lancelot,” Gawain protested, slightly horrified by his loss of control, “I’m sorry. Let’s stop. You’re bleeding.”

But nothing in the monk’s body language changed. Only, Gawain thought he might have seen a blink of disappointment flash across his eyes.

“Think I can’t take you down without a sword, Sir Gawain? A grave mistake.” the Ashman retorted, trying to sound bored but with an unmistakable edge of excitement.

They stared at each other for a little, then Gawain moved, taking a step back, and Lancelot came at him like a ram - a tactic he had taken from the knight himself. He easily dodged, but learned too late that the familiar move was only subterfuge: a hand grabbed his wrist, pushing them up at uncomfortable angles behind his back, and a leg kicked at the back of his knees leaving him no choice but to fall on them.

This was nothing like all the other times they’d fought - especially not like the first time, when the aim had been to kill or be killed, and nothing like their sparing where they operated under strict rules - it was like Lancelot wanted him to believe that he had lost control, yet Gawain knew him well enough by now to know this outburst was motivated by something else.

With his free hand, he yanked back the knight’s head by the hair, peering at him with strangely heated blue eyes. “You look rather lovely like this. On your knees and at my mercy.”

He seemed to forget himself for a second and his grip on Gawain’s wrists slipped ever so slightly. Gawain took the opportunity to free himself, elbowing the man hard, and then swiping a leg in an arc to bring him to a tumble. He crashed to the ground, the air knocked out of him.

It didn’t take a minute for him to try and get back on his feet, ignoring the uncomfortable heaving of his lungs. He rolled to one elbow; Gawain hurried to press the entirety of his weight on the thinner man. The monk had a split lip, disorientation plain on his face, and a too rare smile stretching his face. He even chuckled a little, the bastard.

“What the fuck, Lancelot?” Gawain exclaimed. He moved slightly upward, making sure to pin the idiots legs.

The man made a sound, a low rumble, his hands going white knuckled as they dug into the flooring for purchase. Now that Gawain had time to breathe and took in the Ashman more fully, something unmistakably hard pressed against Gawain’s hip. When the knight looked back up, Lancelot was biting his lip like he wanted to split the tear even further, he’s breathing evenly, but a lovely shade of pink had started creeping down his face and when his eyes met Gawain’s, there was something like challenge in them, or maybe an invitation? It sends heat pooling down Gawain’s stomach.

“You’ve been stressed,” said the monk unperturbed, most of his aggression now gone, “I thought I would offer myself to relieve some of it.”

Gawain’s eyes went wide with sudden realization. “Wait wait wait,” he exclaimed, “Is picking a fight your way of flirting with me?”

Lancelot turned an even deeper colour, the calm mask breaking. “I…”

“Oh dear gods. It is, isn’t it?” With that, Gawain collapsed beside him, holding his sides while he laughed, not unkindly.

Lancelot heaved himself up on his elbows, eyebrows scrunched up like a scolded child. “I thought I was being clear.”

“The last thing this is,” Gawain said, pointing between them in that awful habit he had, “is clear.”

The former monk hung his head in dejection. “I apologize,” he got to his feet and bowed slightly. “I was wrong. I will leave you be.”

Gawain never rose to his feet so fast, the entirety of his body language changed to something infinitely softer, reaching out for Lancelot’s hand and pressing him against the desk. He pushed his hip against his groin, making the other man gasp, his eyes stalking Gawain carefully. His pulse was so quick that Gawain could see it on his neck. “I said it wasn’t clear,” he said low and husky, “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want it.”

He placed his hands on either side of the monk, bringing him even closer and boxing him in. Gawain leaned in, depositing the most reverent kiss on Lancelot’s lips. The Ashman backed away a little, instinctively - worry settling deep at the back of his eyes- and diving in again, chasing the feel of Gawain’s lips on his. When they finally parted breathless, Gawain pushed a leg between Lancelot’s. The man’s pupils blew a little wider and his breath hitched; he gripped the table so hard that it winced. But he kept deathly still, like he was waiting for something.

“I can hear you thinking, Lancelot. What is it?”

He hesitated. “This feels… nice?”

The knight snorted softly. “Well, I would dare hope so. Better than a punch in the gut, that’s for sure.”

“Why… why are you being so gentle with me?”

Gawain kissed down the crux of his throat, making him shudder slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Usually -” he started carefully, “Usually, it’s more angry… there’s rage and…”

He picked his words, afraid he would come across as weak. “Usually, people take what they need from me and then they leave.”

Gawain backed off, searching his face, understanding dawning on him. Anger flared at the back of his mind. He swore that every Red Paladin he ever met would die painfully by his blade. But that was neither here nor there: he saw the tension rile itself up in Lancelot’s shoulders. He encased his beautifully ashen marked face in his hands like a crucible, trying to tame the fire that was threatening to swallow him whole.

“Listen very carefully, Ashman. You did not deserve any of what they did to you. You are so strong, but you also deserve to be soft, and safe, and taken care of.”

To his surprise, Lancelot drove his gaze right into his, still a little uncertain, but a new determination forming. “Show me.”

“Is that what you want? I know you were doing this for my benefit, but I would not see you hurt for anything in this world or the next.”

“Yes… I trust you with my life.”

Satisfied with that answer, Gawain scooped up his Ashman and held him close as he walked them to the bed. 

***

The tightness and warmth of Gawain’s arms startled him. He could feel Gawain’s hands on his back, his fingers gently pressing into the thick of his cloak. Could feel Gawain’s stubble and warm breath against his skin.

There was a small dim part in his memory that remembered being held like this once. He had let himself forget how it felt and now it all came rushing back - the steadiness and calm of it.

Gawain dropped him as easy as he could onto the mattress. The knight lay beside him and caught his mouth in a searing kiss.

After a long while, they parted, breathless. Lancelot couldn’t help but watch him with wonder. So many things were racing through his mind. “Would you…” Lancelot couldn’t find the words. “Would you do it again?”

“Do what, lovely?” Lovely? He’d never been called that before.

“When you took my face…”

Gawain pressed himself up on his elbows and placed both his hands against his cheeks, thumbs tracing his ashen marks. “I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while now,” the knight admitted.

Lancelot could not help but be surprised. “You have?”

“Yes. There are so many things I want to do with you. So many ways I want to touch you. And none of them involve violence.” He let his hand slip down Lancelot’s shoulder, following his arm in a caress - or at least, he was almost certain it was a caress. “Like this.”

Lancelot’s heart was trying to burst its way through his ribcage. He wanted this so badly; anything Gawain would offer, he would take. Especially these delicate touches he had never experienced before. It seemed so fragile - like glass blown so thin it might shatter if he got too close, or if he spoke too loudly.

Gawain ducked his head down and lingered, so close to Lancelot’s face that he could taste the sweetness of his breath, waiting for refusal or permission. When Lancelot gave the slightest of nods, Gawain kissed the corner of his mouth. It was soft and hot, and it made him shiver from head to toe. The knight made a content noise and went on with his experimentation, kissing his temple, his cheek, the line of his jaw, and all Lancelot could do was stand as still as a rock and breathe.

Steady hands found the clasp to his cloak, letting it rest behind him. “Hidden,” Gawain whispered in his ear, “I’ve wanted this for  _ so _ long.”

The mere thought of Gawain looking at him - gazing at him with want - was enough to make his cock twitch in his already uncomfortably tight pants. 

Moving with fluidity, Gawain pressed a hand to his chest and levered himself to straddle his hips. “I’m going to be so good to you,” he said, grinding up against him, making him fist the sheets.

“ _ God almighty _ -”

Gawain’s face spread into a shit eating grin. “Taking the name of your god in vain? I must be doing something right.”

Lancelot wanted to touch Gawain as easily and confidently as the knight was touching him; wanted to press his hands on Gawain’s hips and pull him closer, press their bodies together until there was no space left. Instead, he clutched at the sheets almost tearing through.

Languidly, Gawain unfastened his breeches, unlacing them like he was savouring the experience. He pulled himself out, already hard. 

He stroked himself, and Lancelot couldn’t help but groan at the sight.

“You like that?” said Gawain.

“ _ Yes. _ ”

He let himself go in favour of the hem of Lancelot’s shirt. “May I?”

“It’s not much to look at.” Lancelot was somewhat repulsed by the scars littering his body. Nevertheless, he sat up and let Gawain pull it off. “I beg to differ,” he whispered against his skin, trailing his fingers down his chest.

He had done his utmost to never undress in front of anyone in the Fey camp, afraid that the scars would bring pity, disgust, or show a weakness to anyone looking for one. But he saw none of that in Gawain’s eyes. What he saw was more like - admiration? He couldn’t be sure.

Bright hazel meeting blue, Gawain said, “is it alright if I kiss your chest?” Lancelot nodded, not quite sure why Gawain was taking such pains, asking him questions when he would have allowed anything if it came from him.

Leaning over, Gawain kissed the ridge between his clavicle and his neck, trailed his lips down his chest like he had all the time in the world. He pressed his hands against Lancelot’s ribs, holding him still, as he squirmed.

Between kisses, he asked, “is there anywhere I shouldn’t touch? Anything I shouldn’t do?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

Gawain brushed a thumb over his nipple. He inhaled sharply. Answering such questions seemed trivial when he was busy absorbing all these new sensations. “Anything that may -” Gawain stopped his ministrations, a serious look on his face, “- still be sensitive? Or cause you pain?”

Lancelot grabbed at the shrapnel of courage he had and guided Gawain’s hand to his still bandaged side - a cut he had inflicted on himself. “Not here.” 

Gawain’s hand ghosted on top of the wound, agreeing silently. “Anything else?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Don’t pull my hair,” he dropped.

“Noted,” Gawain said simply, “What about this?” He rolled his thumb over his nipple again.”

Lancelot swallowed hard. “That’s…  _ nice _ ,” and Gawain slid his hand out of the way to make way for his tongue. Lancelot closed his eyes, fighting the urge to move away, trying to let the feeling engulf him.

Gawain wasn’t relenting, blazing a trail with his mouth from his chest to the flat of his stomach, hot, wet, and sloppy. “You are  _ gorgeous _ .” He kissed in the hairline between his navel and his groin. “Do you know that?”

“No,” answered Lancelot flatly.

“Mmm, well, you are,” Gawain cupped his erection, pressing in, and Lancelot hissed, hips jerking to get more of the knight’s hand. Gawain began unlacing his trousers, looking him over carefully for any sign of distress or refusal.

As he saw none, he deftly unfastened everything, patiently opening his breeche., His hand slipped inside, bringing him out, and Lancelot let out a tiny gasp of relief.

He wanted this more than he had ever dared want anything before, wanted it so badly it hurt when he tried to breathe, his head swimming in want.

Gawain wrapped his cock in a firm grasp. “ _ Fuck, _ ” the knight breathed out. “Truly beautiful.” 

The man set a slow, but unrelenting pace. He gritted his teeth, doing his best to be as quiet as possible. There was nothing more he wanted than to lie back and enjoy himself, but his mind kept creeping to dark places that wouldn’t let up, a feeling of wrongness taking up his chest, a terror that spread through him like poison - how this was supposed to hurt him, to redeem him in a small way through his pain, but all he could feel was pleasure.

“Gawain,” he moaned, “wait… please.”

Gawain stopped immediately, raising his head to peer at him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“We have to stop, if we don’t -” Lancelot did his best to retain his tears from falling. “I am damned and you are so pure. You should be taking something from me, not giving so willingly. It is not right that I should enjoy this.”

Gawain’s brow furrowed. He released Lancelot’s member and sat up so he could study the beautiful broken creature before him. “You are no more damned than I am, Lancelot. I refuse to hurt you to fulfill some sick idea that pain might save you,” he said, not unkindly, “That is not to say that pain does not have its place in the bedroom. But only if it brings pleasure.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment that felt much longer.

Gawain sighed and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “You matter to me, Lancelot. To see you hurt, to know that you have been hurt before, only makes me want to give you everything you have been denied. I need this just as much as I think you need it. Otherwise, the knowledge will kill me. Please, let me press kindness into your skin, let me take care of you.”

Lancelot was speechless, he willed himself to release at least a sound: ‘oh.’ 

Another long moment elapsed.

“Would you like us to stop?” he demanded after a while, hands flat on his own legs, still straddling him.

After a moment of hesitation, he responded with a firm: “No.”

“It’s alright if you want to stop. Do not think you owe me anything.”

“Why would you think I want to stop?”

“Because of what you just asked me. Because you look very serious right now.”

“I don’t know how else to look?” he offered, uncertain. “But no… I would like to try. To let you take care of me.”

Gawain nodded, a small smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. He got up, leaving Lancelot to expel a small whine for the loss of contact. “I’ll be back, don’t worry,” Gawain said, the small smile turning wicked. “Take your trousers off.”

Lancelot never obeyed an order so fast in his life, shoving the pants anywhere and laying back on the bed, looking as Gawain went to a cabinet in a corner of the tent and grabbed a small bottle from it. Walking back, the knight abandoned his shirt, broad chest and shoulders making Lancelot blush once more, and stepped out of his own trousers. He was… divine. The dip of his spine, the line of dark hair that trailed up his stomach. His thighs.

Were they soft, he wondered. If Lancelot could run his hands on the inside of those thighs, he would die a happy man. But he knew better than that: he could watch, but touching was forbidden. He’d learned that the hard way.

Gawain climbed back over him. He kissed his cheek. “You look dazed, are you still with me?” He said with a hint of worry.

His mouth had run dry at the perfect form looming over him, but he managed a small: “Yes, still here.”

Gawain’s lips quirked up. “Good.”

He opened the bottle and poured a small amount in his hands, spreading it out, working it in his palms until they were slick. When he returned to his ministrations, his hand was warm and slick. Lancelot made a muffled sound, hands grabbing at the sheets for what seemed the millionth time in the last hour. But this time, Gawain noticed. “If you’re going to be grabbing at anything,” he said, voice breathy with want, “it should be this.”

He took Lancelot’s hand and pressed it firmly to his thigh, making him inhale sharply. It was as soft as Lancelot had imagined. He could feel the muscle under it flexing. He tentatively ran his hand along it, startled that Gawain would allow him this privilege.

It was - nice. No not nice, he corrected himself,  _ heavenly _ . As close as he would ever get to it.

Gawain shifted his weight, pressing their bodies close, their thighs and chests touching, the sensations sending jolts of electricity through Lancelot’s skin. The knight spared no time and wrapped his calloused hand around the both of them, their cocks pressing together, slick with oil. He worked his hand over both their heads, the contact making Lancelot arch his back and press his head further into the mattress.

“ _ Jesus fucking Christ.” _

“Is it too much?” Gawain demanded in his ear.

Lancelot could barely string the words together. He swallowed thickly: “I’m going to cum if you keep it up like that.”

Gawain hummed approvingly. “Would you like me to slow down?” Lancelot whimpered slightly as he shook his head. “Perfect.” Gawain purred, “I have but one condition.” Lancelot glanced at him, unsure whether he should be anxious. “Put your arms around me.” He was all too happy to oblige. As Gawain began moving against him, he slid his hands down the knight’s spine, delighted with the shiver he got in response, and planted them around his waist, pulling to bring them flush against one another.

It was overwhelming. All the different sensations were too much. His entire body felt like it was on fire, like it would crumble into ash with every new motion. The feel of Gawain’s mouth on him was like the memory of the whip on his skin, but infinitely softer. It was unimaginable. It was more than he could bear, and he had held so much on his shoulders already. And yet, he never wanted it to end.

It felt like his own body had been a cage for all this time and he needed to break out of it - like a dragonfly smashing its cocoon. He was so close. So unbearably close. 

“Gawain -” he tried, voice shot to oblivion.

“Yes?” came the equally wrecked voice.

“I’m going to come,” he said as a moan he had not intended left his lips.

A pang of thrill coursed through Gawain at the sound. “ _ Hidden _ ,” he hissed, “ _ yes _ .” He doubled his efforts, Lancelot’s hands gripping at him so hard it would surely leave some marks. A pleasant thought.

It only took a few more strokes for the Ashman to break. He came so hard, the entirety of his body tightened and he drew blood from the gash on his mouth trying not to yell, his breath shaky against Gawain’s neck. “Yes, just like that,” he said. Such a gorgeous display of loss of control made Gawain break not long after.

After they had regained some measure of control, the knight slumped next to him, both of them breathing hard, sweaty, and looking everything but noble.

“Fuck me,” Gawain said after a while. “That was amazing. You’re absolutely stunning when you come undone.”

Lancelot turned his head at the praise, blushing. Gawain was looking at him with something like adoration. A distant part of him thought he could get used to that.

“I am?” uncertainty plain in his tone.

Gawain moved his arm under the curve of his neck, shuffling to his side so he could kiss him, gentle and spent. “Yes.” he answered simply.

The rain was still falling outside as they remained in eachothers arms, slowly dozing off. Gawain lazily traced the scars on his chest.

“Let’s never spar again,” he said after a while, “Only this from now on.”

And while Lancelot might not entirely agree on the ‘no sparring’ part, indulging the knight pleased him beyond measure.

So he nodded, and leaned in to kiss him. A gesture he would never have dared perform in any other circumstance. But Gawain made him brave. 


	2. Back Alley Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm slightly drunk writing this. If it doesn't make sense, I apologize.
> 
> In any case, enjoy!

It’s been at least a year. The fey have finally found a modicum of safety on an island off the gods forsaken shore of the land they came from.

The lights of the tavern are low, lanterns barely making anything visible to even the keenest eyes. Lancelot struggles to make out anything, but his sense of smell never lies. Tonight holds the perfumes of booze, sex, and possible morning heartbreak. But none of that matters at this moment. For now, it is midnight, and the air is sweet with the flowers of spring and the promise of a good time. His pint is lonely on the tabletop where he has left it, spreading circles where it cries. Next to him, Gawain has his face pressed in the crux of his arms, folded around his head like he needed to protect it for some reason.

You would have to know Lancelot fairly well to know that he was grinning to himself, his hand warm and heavy - and slightly too high for it to be an accident - in Gawain’s lap. His deft fingers working circles over the lace keeping his trousers up. A shiver ran through the Skyman’s back, his breath hitching for no one else’s but Lancelot’s ears. It was a shame his hair was so long, thought Lancelot, otherwise he might have seen the lovely shade of pink the other Fey got, spreading down his neck, when he was aroused.

They had purposefully selected one of the most remote tables so that no one would come and disturb the Green Knight on his night off. They had spent the first hour in comfortable silence, sipping at their beers, Gawain lounging on the back of his seat like he owned the place, his hair brushing against his neck and his delicate odor of oak reaching the Ashman. He had wanted nothing more than to lean in and lick or bite down on the long line of his adam’s apple. While his mouth had ached with nothing more than beer to satisfy it, his hands did not have to suffer so. They fit so naturally up the length of Gawain's legs.

At first, Gawain had raised his eyebrows at him, a foolish attempt at deterring him. If Lancelot was anything, it was persistent. He had pretended to be very interest with the action of the tavern while he watched his lover from the corner of his eyes, a furious blush creeping up his cheeks, until the other man also tried his best to pretend the tavern was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen, gripping his own pint like death.

By now, the knight has all but forgotten his drink, too busy trying to keep quiet as Lancelot's fingers bypassed the string of his trousers - curling his fingers around his dick.

A Waterfolk woman, the hostess of this fine establishment, came by to see if they needed anything else. Lancelot ordered another round in his soft tones as the snake woman looked suspiciously at what she believed was an already passed out Gawain.

Lancelot, capable of being cruel is his ministrations, leaned in and pressed his hand even further into Gawain’s trousers as he spoke to the woman.

“He usually doesn’t go down that easily,” she noted to Lancelot.

“Oh, he’s been running himself ragged. You know how it is.” Gawain gave a muffled plaintive huff. 

She nodded pleasantly at him before taking his cup and promising to come back with a new pint for him.

As soon as she left, Gawain’s raspy voice rose up from his elbows: “Bastard… I’m going to kill -” he choked on a gasp.

Lancelot hummed at the threat. He leaned in, as though he were a good partner - he knew he was not worthy, but he could pretend - trying to goad his drunken boyfriend into waking up, and whispered in his ear, “Oh but wouldn't you rather do other things to me? I'm extremely _flexible_.”

Gawain’s entire body clenched and he shot up to lean back on his chair, a wave of hormones threatening to overwhelm Lancelot’s nose following him.

The hostess made her way back to their table with Lancelot’s new pint. He was forced to abandon his ministrations as they were much more apparent now that Gawain was sitting up, not wanting to humiliate the man completely.

When the woman finally left after throwing Gawain another suspicious look, the knight all but leapt out of his seat, casually saying, “We're going,  _ now _ .”

Lancelot barely had the time to down half of his pint and to throw a handful of coins on the table before he lost the knight’s olfactory trace.

He followed that delicious trail outside the tavern and into the dark, trying to bypass the crowd of drunken patrons. He was afraid he had lost him when a hand grabbed him, and he suddenly found himself back pressed to the far wall of the tavern. Gawain pressed into him, hard, and warm, and wanting.

“I have to say, I enjoy this side of you, Ashman,” breathed the knight into his neck before biting it in just the way that made Lancelot keen. The ex-monk griped the small of the knight’s back, trying to make as little noise as possible.There were still many people just around the corner after all.

“We might be discovered, lov -” Gawain shut him up with a searing kiss.

“I couldn’t care less,” he dropped as he fiddled with the buttons of Lancelot’s pants, slowly undoing them while he kept his mouth busy.

When Gawain finally managed to pull him out, he took both of them in hand, impatiently. All Lancelot could do was grip the back of his knight's shirt while his love made impossible sounds - whimpers that he had never heard before and that he found extremely satisfying. Sounds that had him struggling not to thrust his hips forward to get more of them.

It took very little time for Gawain to come, pressing against Lancelot and holding his breath like it would be the last thing he ever did.

Lancelot was talking himself down his own high when the knight slumped down to his knees, and -  _ blood hell _ \- wasn’t that a beautiful sight?

“ _ Fuck, _ ” he managed as Gawain worked the flat of his tongue over the head of his dick.

Gawain’s hands were warm clutching to his pants, much warmer than the first curls of spring. His mouth was wet and sloppy from his own bliss. Gawain was practiced and he knew exactly where to swipe his tongue to have him grip his hair between tight knuckles.

“Oh God -” he pleaded, “Gawain, I’m gonna,  _ shit _ -” 

Gawain popped his dick out of his mouth, a noise that left Lancelot shaking.

“Come in my mouth, love.”

He pushed back onto his member, punching a breath out of the Ashman. He felt Gawain grab his hip hard, pushing him against the wall. The strength in that arm made him go hazy. He came so hard, he sees white.

Gawain swallowed around him making him curl in on himself, sure he had probably ripped a few hairs out of kinght's head. Finally, Gawain stood up, bringing his arms around his Ashman, cradling his blissed out form against his shoulder.

After a while, when he had taken back enough of his composure to speak, Lancelot whispered in his ear: “I’m going to fuck you so hard once we get home.”

Gawain’s eyes crinkled and he coaxed him in an embrace while they attempted the short walk to their house.

“When we get home, you are going to drop and be dead to the world until at least noon while I nurse a headache.”

“Headache?” Lancelot said, uncomprehending, “But you barely even touched your first drink.”

“Oh, I don’t need it: you’re plenty of a headache all by yourself,” he teased.

Lancelot rammed his fingers in his side in the way that made his lover giggle.

The following day - around noon, as predicted - Lancelot found himself carefully tucked into the knight’s arms, wondering whatever he did to deserve such a man.


	3. Roped and Bound

He’s a mess, which is part of what appeals, Gawain thought slowly pulling out and then pushing back in with a lazy thrust of his hips. He became so pink, from the elegant swerve of his throat to the graceful dip of his back, soaked with sweat.

Gawain tugged on the rope restraining Lancelot’s strong arms and couldn’t help but answer at how he tightened around him as he thrust in again.

“Still good, my love?” he asked, short of breath. Lancelot grunted, muffled by the mattress where his face is pressed. Gawain needs more than that. He gripped his lover by the shoulder, used the extra traction to press further into Lancelot’s ass. Hidden, he was so hot and slick.

“I’m going to need a little more than that.”

Lancelot tried to move his hips first, when it failed, spread his knees wider, but the rope kept him coiled tightly enough that he didn’t have any leverage. Instead, he rolled his head to the side, giving Gawain full view of his pupils, blown out of proportion and dark in the candlelight, and the swell of his lips where he’s been biting it to keep himself from making any noise. How Gawain wished he could divest him from that habit.

“ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed lowly, “Just kee -  _ uhm _ \- “

Gawain let a sly smile spread on his face at the sound: he couldn’t help make a sound if his voice was already open. The knight sighed in victory and rolled his hips forward again. Lancelot, already off-balance, his center all wrong from his knees being too wide, flattened on the mattress, cock grinding against the sheets. Gawain slows down his pace, making Lancelot feel the frag as he pulls almost all the way out, and then inch by inch back in, still slick with oil, slow, making sure that his Ashman squirms into the sheets.

Lancelot arches into it, face once again pressed into the mattress - Gawain leans forward, grabs the back of his head so that he can see his face. He likes the way Lancelot’s eyes shine. Revels in the way he can’t quite close his mouth and keep breathing comfortably.

Gawain wants to kiss those lips so badly. Maybe even get bit for his boldness.

He pushes the thought aside. Leaning back he grabs the meat of Lancelot’s thighs, hands in the crease under his ass - the oil making it hard to grab him there, makes him hard to hold down, makes the tight knot in Gawain’s gut coil even tighter. He pulls his lover up in the next thrust.

This earns him a whimper and Lancelot kicks his feet into the bed for purchase, but Gawain is without mercy. He hauls him back into place with another harsh snap of his hips, and this time Lancelot’s voice caught on such a sinful whine that it almost makes him come right there and then. Gawain doesn’t let him find purchase, hooks a hand under his hip and reaches the other underneath.

Gawain wraps a greedy hand around him - he’s hard and leaking. He fingers the head and Lancelot almost bucks out of his lap, breath now coming in heavy and rough. It almost feels like backlash as the man clenches around him convulsively, it’s harder and harder to remain in control of the whole situation, but he wasn’t raised a quitter. He drags his palm along the graceful arch of Lancelot’s spine flattening him back into the mattress.

“None of that, love,” he tutted, pressing into the ropes, catching his straining arms in the most delightful way. “Have to make you work for it.”

Lancelot’s breathing catches when Gawain sinks in again. He keeps the pace steady - the muscles in Lancelot’s back move in time with him, his breath catching again and again until it just stops, his mouth open and no sound coming out.

Gawain smooths a hand against his spine, bending down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t forget to breathe, beautiful.”

The simple praise makes Lancelot rake air in, gasps it back into a low, aching sound. His eyes are wet, wet enough that slow tears trail down to his nose. He’s so close.

Gawain moves his hair out of his face so he can take it all in. “You gorgeous creature, are you going to come for me?”

Lancelot’s spine bows and he keens more loudly than he ever has. It comes in even stronger with every new thrust, making Gawain go a little more insane with every passing second. It doesn’t take much longer for Lancelot to break. After he sags against the mattress it only took a couple more thrusts for Gawain to shudder through his finish, sinking down, forehead pressed against the sweaty nape of Lancelot’s neck.

Both of them are sticky and covered in filth. Gawain takes a moment to bask and breathe his lover in before getting up and getting to work.

First, the ropes. They’re thick - hard to tie, hard to untie - even as he works them loose, they chafe his hands. Luckily they have learned, Gawain now wraps cloth around Lancelot's arms and wrists. The first time Gawain had relented and agreed in tying him up, it had left bruises and long red welts all over his arms from his fighting against them to get more of his lover. Lancelot hadn’t cared about the damage, Gawain had cared. He would make sure it never happened again. 

Once Lancelot is free, Gawain gets a cloth and a bowl of water, still warm from boiling. He wipes his lover down as best he can - his neck, his narrow shoulders, light around his arms as they will assuredly bruise by morning (those, Lancelot loves), and the length of his back.

When he is done, he climbs back in bed. He kneels next to Lancelot, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. “Lancelot?”

His eyes are stormy blue and half-lidded. His breathing remains equal and deep. The entirety of him is calm and loose where he usually looks like a piece of solid marble. It’s endearing in a way. Gawain grabs the blanket at the bottom of the bed and draws it up, manhandling Lancelot under it. He wipes a thumb along the tear trail on his face; rests his hand there for a moment. 

Gawain shuffles under the covers bringing him into his arms. The other man moves for the first time, nuzzling his head in his shoulder and pressing his cold hands against his chest. It makes Gawain shiver, but he takes the time to rub down his back and arms, trying to get the blood moving, get him warm. When he’s done, he combs his fingers through the soft dark blond curls until he’s certain Lancelot is asleep.

Watching him breathe softly, safe and cared for, Gawain can’t believe his luck. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> If you're not sure what to leave, I'd be delighted to know about one thing you liked and one thing you think needs improvement :) This is as much a learning tool for me as it is a way to have fun.


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